


100% Success Rate

by goodemornting



Category: Canada’s Drag Race RPF, RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Cheerleader x Athlete, Cheerleaders, F/F, Highschool AU, Juice Boxx crashes her motercycle, Lesbian AU, Love, Mutual Pining, Pining, Volleyball, alternate universe - cheerleaders, its not gory though i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodemornting/pseuds/goodemornting
Summary: Legend had it, that whenever Priyanka unleashed the ;) face, things would not bode well for Juliana Boxx.Case in point, when she finally managed to speak to Lemon, the cheerleading captain and the biggest crush she’d ever had in her life.
Relationships: Lemon/Juice Boxx
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	100% Success Rate

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so excited for you all to read this one! I’m so so happy with it even if it does give off big whatpadd vibes aksjjxjd. If you enjoyed it, please do leave a comment! Tysm to Vic for beta-ing this, I love you!!

It was after crushing on the prettiest cheerleader on the planet that Juice made a huge fucking mistake.

She told Priyanka.

“Just talk to her!” The younger woman groaned in exasperation, rubbing at her eyes in frustration. “Go up and say something, can’t be that hard.”

“Say what exactly?” Juice hissed, straightening her sports jacket nervously. “I’ve been pining for you from afar for the past month, would you go to the spring dance with me?”

The brunette leveled her with a stare. “Stick with the second half.” When the blonde didn’t move, she sighed, turning back to her locker to shove her books away, dejected. “Just do it already Juicy, what are you so scared of anyway, Lemonade’s harmless— ”

The blonde folded her arms over her chest, biting her lip. “Yeah, no. I’m… she thinks I’m weird, and clumsy. Why would she say yes?”

“She doesn’t think you’re weird!”

“Last week you told me that I scare the shit out of her,” Juice deadpanned.

“Okay, one — you are kind of weird, and two, she said that like a year ago.“ The brunette slammed her locker shut, a sheepish square-shaped grin stretching across her lips. “Maybe she finds you less scary and more… I don’t know. Hot now. Or something. You never know!”

Juice mimed gagging, throwing her head back with a laugh, “Did you just indirectly call me hot?”

Priyanka mimicked the action back with an easy grin, “I shouldn’t have said anything, your ego doesn’t need anymore stroking.” 

“You’re saying that to the captain of the volleyball team, careful,” 

The brunette huffed, slinging her bag over her shoulder and getting ready to leave, but only two steps away, she paused sharply and threw a deep smirk over her shoulder that made the blondes eyes narrow.

But before Juice could manage to pull the universal gesture of shut up and abort whatever your fucking mission is, most effectively realised as punching Priyanka in the face, the younger woman boomed across the hallway, “Hey, fruit salad!” 

Juice seized her by the arm with a curse, already too late. The damage had been done, as Juice watched mortified at Lemon and all her cheerleader friends looking over in their general direction with vague amusement and confusion. 

“Could you come here for a sec? Juicy has something to ask you—!”

The shorter woman only managed to capture the last ‘you’ behind her palm, not enough to prevent her inevitable embarrassment. 

Priyanka sputtered behind her hand, yanking it off with an eye roll. “Stop being dramatic already. And straighten up, she’s coming.” She slipped out of the blondes hold like water, leaving only with a whisper of “You’ll thank me later.”

Juice gave her the finger. 

Or, she imagined she did, because Lemon was suddenly standing right in front of her all she could hardly keep herself standing, let alone moving any of her limbs to do the aforementioned action.

“Hi?” Lemon giggled tentatively, raising up a manicured hand to smooth down her trademark yellow hair.

Are those angels singing, the blonde swooned, maybe just one angel — Lemon. Whose voice sounded really good up close, and her eyes were an even nicer shade of hazel than what she’d seen from afar on the court—

“Um. Juliana…?”

“Hi!” Juice said, wide eyed. Holy shit, you’re so pretty, she meant.

The cheerleader fidgeted with her sleeves, glancing over her shoulder at her friends who were watching their exchange with soft titters and laughs smothered by manicured hands. She looked up unsurely, trying to scrutinize Juice’s face. “Did you want something?”

“Oh. Yeah, um…” Juice rubbed at the back of her neck, ducking her head a little to avoid the younger woman’s gaze. Lemon’s eyes were so pretty, they make it kind of hard to think. Or be a person in general. It was kind of unfair. “I just wanted to ask.. if you were coming to the game this Friday?”

Lemon blinked. “I mean, I’m on the cheer squad. So, I’m always at the games.”

Okay. She probably thought Juice was an idiot now. Or at least, socially inept. And she wouldn’t be wrong.

“Right. Um.” 

Ask her to the dance, Priyanka’s voice urged angrily in her head, imaginably slapping a hand against her face in utter frustration. Juice, wise for her eighteen years, elected to ignore it. 

“Just. Just checking. I’ll be there, playing. So.”

Lemon cracked a wry smile, amusement glimmering in her eyes and Juice wanted to run away, like right then. Fuck Priyanka for making her think this was a good idea. Actually, this hadn’t even been her idea, so she shouldn’t be held responsible for fucking it up. Because that was what she was doing. Fucking up.

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t going to your own game,” Lemon poked out her tongue with a diluted smirk, dimples creasing her cheeks. “Is that really what you were going to ask me?”

She clenched her fists. This was her chance to not be a fuck-up. 

“… Yeah,” she breathed quietly, consequently losing that chance.

The younger woman smiled, patting her on the arm amicably. “Okay. I’ll see you at the game then, Princess.” 

Princess. _Princess, princess, princess._

Juice stumbled back a little, her shoulder hitting the lockers again, but she tried to play it off, like she’d meant to fall backwards like that. Because Juice was nothing if not cool and suave. 

“Okay,” she smiled shakily, waving weakly.

But before she went, she looked back over her shoulder with a flirty wink, “I’ll make sure to cheer extra loud, just for you.”

The athlete leaned her head back against cold metal, face in flames. “Okay.” She whispered. Too late, as Lemon was already gone, all smiles and gesturing hands as she stumbled off with her friends.

She covered her face with mortification. “… What the fuck was that,”

“Pathetic, that’s what.”

Juice startled, looking up to see Tynomi, the basketball team captain’s scowling face. She contorted her frown into a look nonchalance, straightening from her slouch weakly. “You didn’t see anything.” 

“I saw you melt into a literal puddle of goo from talking to your little crush. I thought that kind of shit only happened in shitty rom coms, what are you, some sort of inner sap?” Tynomi reached out, plucking at Juice’s team jacket. “Is all that practise time and muscle just overcompensation?”

The blonde pulled back stiffly, rubbing down the creases. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. But next time you try to ask citric acid out to the spring formal, I suggest actually asking her about it, instead of telepathic communication. Her skull is way too thick for that kind of thing.”

“It took you two months before you mustered up enough confidence to talk to Pri,”

The taller woman chuckled, “At least I managed it in the end. I’m slowly losing hope for you.”

Juice sighed, “This is all Priyanka’s fault.”

***

[ **problem pri** ]  
_lem says u asked her if she’s coming 2 the game on fri???????????_

[ **juicy** ]  
_it’s your fault. i told you i wasn’t ready._

[ **problem pri** ]  
_BAHAHHAHAAAA_

[ **juicy** ]  
_stop. this is your fault. she thinks i’m a idiot now :,(_

[ **problem pri** ]  
_it’s better she find out sooner than later lol. but hey at least it wasn’t totally pointless_

[ **juicy** ]  
_what do you mean_

[ **problem pri** ]  
_congrats! she doesn’t think you’re scary anymore!_

[ **juicy** ]  
_…. but now she thinks im an idiot._

[ **problem pri** ]  
_listen. don’t look a gift in the horse's mouth._

[ **juicy** ]  
_???????????  
that’s not how the saying goes omfg_

[ **problem pri** ]  
_you get the picture.  
basically, now tht she’s not scared shitless of u, u should take this as the opportunity to win her heart!!!!1!_

[ **juicy** ]  
_whatever you’re thinking of, i’m not going to do it._

[ **problem pri** ]  
_but u gotta >:(  
bc what if i can guarantee u a 100% success rate?!  
well??????????? CMON. THIS IS UR CHANCE TO BAG LEMON MANITONE_

[ **juicy** ]  
_...  
im listening _

[ **problem pri** ]  
_;)_

*** 

Legend had it, that whenever Priyanka unleashed the ;) face, things would never bode well for Juliana Boxx. But legend also had it, that Juliana Boxx had a penchant for making terrible decisions.

Which brought her here. Here, being Juice, on her motorbike, memorising the map to Lemon’s house that Priyanka had sent over two days ago with the brilliant idea to ask the cheerleader out with a bunch of flowers. Because Lemon was a romantic at heart, and the brunette had been adamant that Juice needed to show her that she wasn’t as emotionally-constipated as she looked. Juice had, predictably, responded to that as those with great emotional constipation would: that is, by sending over a lot of passive aggressive threats to everything Priyanka held beloved. As it was, even after years of knowing Priyanka Kapoora, Juice still wasn’t immune to her fanciful ideas that more often than not landed them in trouble (or just her, usually, because the brunette was even better at getting out of trouble than she was at getting into it) and thus, she found herself on the road. Heading to Lemon’s house. With flowers, artfully wrapped by the local florist and stuffed into her backpack. Every bone in her body knew that this was somehow going to go spectacularly wrong, but Juice was still doing it because — well. Priyanka had promised a 100% success rate. And how wrong could things go, anyway?

The answer to that was: very.

The blonde was minding her own business, searching for the cheerleaders house number as she pulled up to the right street, when she caught sight of her.

Lemon.

Lemon, cheer captain and her crush of almost two years, in the flesh.

This probably shouldn’t have been any sort of surprise, because this was Lemon’s street, where she lived and where her house was. And therefore Lemon actually being there shouldn’t have shocked Juice into careening her motorcycle into a fire hydrant and tumbling off it right in front of the younger woman’s driveway. But the facts were: she was wearing nothing but a pair of tiny ass shorts under a yellow oversized t-shirt as she watered the flowers on her front lawn, and the blonde got an eyeful of her legs as she bent over to pluck out a weed with a gloved hand, and —

The moral was, Juice did in fact careen her bike into a fire hydrant.

Fortunately, the fire hydrant didn’t explode in his face and drench her. Unfortunately, Lemon was looking at her. And right then, Juice was nursing a severely wounded head and ego as she laid sprawled half on the sidewalk and half on the cement. And even more unfortunately, Lemon was dashing over as fast as she could, tossing her gardening gloves behind her, mouth open with shock and worry. _100% success rate, my ass._

“Oh my god, Juice! Are you okay? Do you need to go to a hospital?” The yellow haired woman sputtered, crouching down next to her and prodding at various parts of her body.

Juice briefly thought that she must have got a concussion or activated some sort of serious brain damage from birth, because Lemon looked as though she had a real life halo — the fucking sun shining right behind her head illuminating her face and her pretty as fuck eyes, and hello… pain.

“Ow,” The blonde realised.

“Ow,” Lemon repeated, scandalized. “You just. Flew off. A motorcycle going at full speed _oh my god I’m calling an ambulance —_ ”

“No, it’s okay, I’m good,” Juice reassured quickly, grabbing the cheerleader’s arm before she could reach her phone. “I’m good, seriously. I just need to… lay here for a bit.”

Lemon frowned. “You can’t lay here.”

“Why not?” The older woman frowned back.

“You’re in the middle of the road. And if you’ve got a head injury, lying down isn’t really the best idea.” The shorter woman tugged her up with surprising strength until Juice managed to sit up on the sidewalk. “Are you sure you’re okay? I think you’re bleeding.” Lemon reached out, touching a hand to Juice’s forehead hesitantly and flinching as it came back stained red. “Definitely bleeding.”

Juice wasn’t surprised, because she’d had worse. “I’ve had worse,” she muttered aloud.

“Yes, that’s very reassuring,” Lemon responded dryly. “Can you stand? If you come inside, I’ve got some first-aid stuff. I can get that cleaned up for you.”

Juice nodded and stood weakly. The world didn’t spin. She was pretty sure it was just a surface wound, she had a thick head after all, but Lemon draped her arm over her shoulders to help her back to her house and Juice didn’t have the heart to tell her that she could walk just fine on her own. The younger woman fitted against her side so perfectly, and the blonde might’ve been leaning into it a bit too much, because Lemon stumbled a little and she was panting by the time they made it inside.

She dragged Juice over to the living room, not even stopping to take off their shoes. “Wait here. I’m going grab the first-aid kit. Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay,” The blonde breathed. She tried her absolute best to keep the dopey grin off of her face, because Lemon Manitone or not, she had an image to uphold.

The younger woman shook her head with a little smile and disappeared into an adjacent room. Juice took that moment to collect herself, blinking a couple times to take a look at the cheerleader’s house. Okay. Motorcycle accident or not, the 100% success rate still seemed to stand, because here she was. In Lemon’s house. Sitting on her couch. She was about to take a fucking snap or something to commemorate the occasion, but Lemon quickly ran back into the room holding a first-aid kit — yes, ran, and it was so fucking cute that Juice found herself smiling idiotically again at the sight, all thoughts of anything other than the shorter woman flying away.

“Oh thank god. I swear, if you’d passed out while I was gone, I don’t know what I’d do. Scream, maybe,” Lemon giggled quietly, setting the kit down next to the athlete and flicking it open with practiced hands. “You’re really okay?”

“Yeah. Seriously.” Juice knocked at her head with his fist. “My head’s made of steel or something.”

The younger woman smiled, really smiled, the kind of smile that put bunnies and kittens to shame with how cute it was. Her eyes went all curved and her cheeks creased with the force of it, like she was so happy it couldn’t be contained on her face, and Juice thought her heart was going to burst right out of her chest and onto the yellow living room rug.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

Lemon mercifully didn’t hear it, busy cutting out gauze and wetting cotton with what Juice hoped was antiseptic. Honestly, she’d let Lemon rub cooking oil on her face if she wanted to, she was so fucking soft, but she was glad it didn’t have to come to that because the younger woman seemed to know what she was doing.

“Hold still. It’ll sting a bit,” Lemon warned, before dabbing the cotton against the cut on Juice forehead. At that proximity, the blonde could count each of Lemon’s eyelashes. If she leaned forward a little, their lips would probably brush. Also, Juice might’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Take a breath, princess, it doesn’t hurt that much does it?” Lemon shook her head, laughing a little.

Juice sucked in a breath at the reminder. She was used to being hurt and used to fixing herself up after, hunched over locker room seats rubbing her head after a ball hit it or ignoring the throbbing sensation after a swollen ankle on the field. It was new and weird to have someone else do it for her. Good weird, but still weird. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” she sighed, looking down, “You’re just… really pretty.”

Lemon pulled back, cotton falling to the ground, stained red. Her cheeks were tinged the prettiest shade of pink. “Oh. Thanks. Thank you…” she stuttered.

“Why do you look so surprised?” Juice asked, genuinely concerned. She’d have thought someone like Lemon would be used to comments like those thrown left and right.

“Well, because,” The cheerleader said uncomfortably. “No one’s really said that to me before.”

“Bullshit,” 

Lemon shook her head before ducking down to unwrap a bandage from its packaging. She laughed it off with a forced chuckle. “No. It’s true.”

Juice was floored. She’d seen the younger girl perform, distracted on court from watching the yellow haired woman’s body moving with such sureness and precision in front of huge audiences. She’d seen her with her head held high, pretty smiles given out like candy on Halloween, and a strut in all her calculated steps. She’d never seen her like this — so small and unsure and human. Her tiny, bittersweet cheerleader crush.

“Hold still,” Lemon reminded her. She was close again, leaning in to press the bandage to Juice’s forehead, taking care to smooth it out.

“I meant it,” The blonde whispered seriously, no shakiness in her words.

“Huh?”

“That you’re pretty. You’ve got… a really nice smile. And the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Lemon leaned back, surprise and happiness evident on her face. Juice looked to the side, bravado gone with the moment. After what felt like an eternity, she glanced back up to see the shorter woman beaming back at her, eye twinkling. “You’re so cute, Juicy. Thank you,” she giggled softly.

The athlete swallows. _Ask her, you fucking idiot,_ Priyanka yelled inside of her head for the second time that week.

The words just wouldn’t come out.

Lemon crouched in front of her legs, and that train of thought was lost once more. ?????////??/ was the extent of her cognitive abilities at that moment. The younger girl grabbed her hands in her smaller ones, cradling them with a frown. 

“Your hands are bleeding too. You didn’t even notice?” Lemon chided, shaking her head. She wetted a new piece of cotton, dabbing at the reddened areas with a wince. She worked with great concentration, a little crease forming between her brows and small fingers doing their best to keep steady. Juice wanted to kiss her. Buy her things. Spoil her rotten. Do all the sappy romantic shit that Tynomi cursed about. With Lemon, Juice wanted it all. 

The words, “Go to the dance with me,” spilt out before she could stop them, mouth gaping in awe as it caught up to what she had just said,

Lemon finished the binding sharply, straightening with surprise. “Please,” The blonde added, wondering if she looked as desperately smitten as she felt.

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll just go, I didn’t mean - oh my god _didyoujustsaysure_.”

The cheerleader blinked, tilting her head. “Yes? Did you not want me to?”

“No. I mean yes. I wanted you to say okay,” Juice grinned, shoulders sagging in relief.

That earned her a full-body giggle. “You’re so cute. Of fucking course I’d say okay. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me since last Christmas dance.”

“That was five months ago,” 

“Yes, exactly,” Lemon sighed fondly, rolling her eyes.

“… I thought you were scared of me.”

“In my defense, you are the team captain of the volleyball team and you always glared whenever I walked by and you always look like you want to beat someone up.”

“ _I don’t glare_ — ”

Lemon laughed loudly, high pitched and sweet, “I know that, now. But Pri’s fed me a lot of weird stories about you, and I never knew what was true or what wasn’t.”

 _That bastard._ ”You can find out. For yourself, I mean. If you’d date me.” Juice wanted to die. Jump out a window. Something along those lines.

“I guess I will, then,” Lemon beamed. She knocked the first aid kit to the ground to take a seat on the couch next to Juice, so close that their thighs brushed gently.

Fuck that, she was already dead. “Okay. Um. I guess you will.” 

“First thing’s first. Did you really come all the way here with flowers, planning to serenade me into going to the dance with you?”

The blonde’s brain short-circuited for three whole seconds. Fucking Priyanka. Nothing was sacred to her, apparently. “Does Pri tell you everything?” She rolled her eyes.

“So it’s true then,” Lemon giggled, showing off her dazzling smile. Juice is a weak mortal and could only muster up a weak nod. “Where are they? I want them!”

“..hold on.” The athlete slid off her backpack, pulling the bouquet of crushed sunflowers out. They hadn’t survived the crash as well as she had. She frowned disappointedly at them. “These looked nice, like, fifteen minutes ago, I swear.”

Lemon grabbed them anyway, holding them to her chest like the flowers were a teddy bear. “I love them,” she gushed. “Okay, now I want to hear my poem!”

Juice sputtered. “But you already said yes — ”

That day, Juice learned that Lemon could be very persuasive. She also learnt that Lemon was a really, really good kisser.

She also learnt that Lemon would, in fact, be going to the volleyball game that Friday.

[ **problem pri** ]  
_see? whatd i tell ya  
100% success rate. satisfaction guaranteed ;)_


End file.
